


No one puts a lily on their grave

by Marayanna



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Merlin's Magic Revealed, and Destiny fucks with him one last time, he's doing his best but he's just so Tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 05:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16112279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marayanna/pseuds/Marayanna
Summary: He should have known.He was never anything but a vessel of magic, tool of destiny, raised and groomed for his role at king Arthur’s side. His duty was to ensure king’s happiness, not to be happy. To fight for Camelot’s safety, not to be safe himself.To make sure Arthur lived, not-





	No one puts a lily on their grave

Everybody in Camelot knew.

They could feel it in their parched throats, in joints aching from unknown diseases. Smell it in the air, gray from ashes rising from the funeral pyres.

The drought, the famine, the plague. It was not something natural, couldn’t be.

Everybody knew. Another quest was needed, another search for a reason and cure.

Merlin looked at the king as he proclaimed it, sitting high on his throne, and couldn’t help but wonder just when did he start looking so tired.

.

“I think I know how she managed to do that”

Gaius’ face was pale and wary, as always when the fate of the whole country depended on his research, as always when doing this research could cost him his life.

“She weaved together a number of spells and curses. Quite an accomplishment” he rubbed his forehead in a tired gesture.

Merlin stood and listened, because he knew his mentor well and  they danced this dance for years now.

Gaius found a reason for their problems, but the solution was always, _always_ just on the edge of their understanding. It was then up to Merlin to notice nuances and implications. To act fast and make things right.

To make whatever sacrifices necessary, be it his father, his beloved, or his life itself.

That’s how it has worked for years now. That’s what he was _for_.

“I think that in order to strengthen the curse, she-“ Gaius stopped for a second, then shook himself and continued. “She had to collect a lot of power. I think she captured other sorcerers and, well. Gathered their magic in one object and used it as catalyst.”

“Gathered their magic” Merlin rubbed his eyes and wondered, absently, when was the last time he slept. Between tending to the sick, taking care of Arthur and searching for a cure, the days somehow blurred together. “What does that even mean?”

“It means their blood, Merlin. It means she killed them”

.

After two months Arthur ordered them back to Camelot.

It was hopeless. Where should they begin their search, if they didn’t know a first thing about the curse? Who should they ask, if in other circumstances knowing the answer could be punishable by death?

Merlin thought about a Camelot as it could have been, without the Purge, where scholars would study magical craft and advise the king in times of need. It was a sad thought, a bitter one. It was a reflection of a longing carved deep into his bones, echoed in soul of every other magic user in the country.

_If it weren’t for the Purge, I would- my sister could- my mother wouldn’t have to-_

-never spoken out loud and yet reverberating over and over, all over the land.

_If it weren’t for the Purge, I might have known how to save these people from Morgana._

But all they had were gossips that led nowhere and villages upon villages of dying people, and with each passing day Merlin saw the knights hearts harden to magic even more.

And yet he pushed through. He helped those villagers he could, he cooked and washed for Arthur and his men, he listened to whispers in huts and discussions by the fire, and he advised as much as he could, as much as he understood himself.

But it was hopeless. Even Merlin had to face that. Even Arthur had to admit.

And then their luck turned, but even years afterwards, nobody could agree if it was for better or for worse.

It was on their ride back to Camelot, when they stopped to rest in another village rotting with sickness. Older woman approached them, sick and shaking, whispering about strange sightings and caves and woods up north. Half of it didn’t make sense and other half sounded mad.

The knights looked at each other, wordlessly, and headed north the next morning.

.

They never learned whether the old lady knew she was sending them into a trap.

There was a cave, damp and dark and eerie, the way most caves were. There was a tunnel, going far and deep into the darkness. Arthur stepped in first.

It was only once everybody was inside that Merlin felt magic _shift._ The ground and walls all but _moved_ around them, the air rippled and-

Ear-splitting _roar_ of falling stones made Merlin fall to his knees, but he still raised his hand because he had to, _he had to-_

.

Everything was silent when the last bits of dust fell, the kind of silent it should never be when big group of soldiers was gathered together. There should be curses and swears and shouts for help. There should be _something._

But it was silent.

Both Merlin and Arthur stared at the wall of stones where the tunnel used to be few moments ago.

“They’re… They should be fine” Merlin said, and it sounded scared and unsure even to his own ears, but how could he say _I think I pushed them into safety on the other side_ and _I tried to slow the fall to give them more time_ and _I never studied or practiced doing that. How can I say if it succeeded?_

Arthur cursed so loudly Merlin jumped. Then he pursed his lips and without another word turned towards the rest of the tunnel.

And froze.

Far in the distance the tunnel ended and gave way to what seemed like a chamber

There was a light.

Arthur unsheathed his sword grimly and walked forward, and after a second Merlin followed. There was little point of being stealthy anymore.

Step by step they were getting closer. The light was shifting, like this of a fire. Merlin could feel the hair on his body stand up.

Four steps left.

Three.

Two.

One.

And there it was, a chamber lit with candles set around the stone altar, and in their light they could see the bloodstains on the smooth surface of the stone, the _bloodthirst in Morgana’s eyes…_

Arthur gasped as she turned to them, smiling.

And that’s when they were _swarmed_ by monsters.

They were small but vicious, appearing from a thin air, attacking without care or hesitation. Merlin jumped away from them and Arthur jumped right into the biggest cluster, and everything happened very quickly after that.

Arthur was shouting, telling him to run, the monsters kept appearing from darkness around them, and Merlin knew he had to come up with the answers to all of this _soon._

He looked to the altar and forced himself to remember every clue, every bit of information he managed to gather.

The curse. The stone. The blood…

 “There, there, little brother”, taunted Morgana, now perched comfortably on the side of the stone altar, as if it didn’t contain the blood of dozens of sorcerers she murdered, the blood that made hundreds die even now. “Not that I don’t enjoy your struggle, but you could at least _try_ to pose a real threat. Because, really. What do you plan to do, even if you manage to get up here?”

And she smiled, all teeth, the smile of the tiger, the wyvern, the witch.

Merlin knew Arthur could do nothing, that there was no plan. It was their last, desperate attempt, it was them running headlong into danger in hopes it would change something, and Merlin had to think of a way because Arthur was shouting and people were dying and _there was no time…_

And then the cold suspicion wedged itself deep into his stomach.

The suspicion of how to break the blood curse of so many sorcerers. Or rather, how to satisfy it. He ripped his eyes from Arthur and slowly looked back at the altar, and all the clues he gathered in the past few days slid together presenting the answer to all of his questions, to the curse, the stone, the _blood_ , oh gods…

It was at that moment Arthur moved through enough creatures to move closer to Morgana, and he _jumped._

Taken aback, she dodged to the side, her fencing intuition guiding her even after all these years, but the next second she was already raising her hand, eyes full of contempt and power, and Merlin _would not allow it._

He raised his hand, and the next second the air was pierced  by the two gasps.

One from Morgana, Excalibur’s blade wedged deep into her abdomen.

One from Arthur, who did not make a decision to move his arm at all.

She gripped the stone behind her and tore her astonished gaze from Arthur to look past him, at Merlin, who still stood with his hand raised, his back straight and stiff.

He saw the moment her eyes widened with understanding, with shock, and with something else he chose not to interpret, and then he saw the moment they stopped showing anything at all.

Her body collapsed to the floor. The Witch was dead.

Merlin, very slowly, let his hand fall to his side and allowed himself a second to close his eyes, to brace for what, he knew now, needed to happen.

Breath in, breath out.

When he opened his eyes they fell right on the Excalibur’s blade pointed right at him. Still dripping with blood.

Then he raised his eyes some more, and only then met his king’s gaze.

Arthur’s face was completely empty, mouth pressed into a thin line, hard, as if stopping himself from speaking, asking. No emotion could be seen behind the cold mask, which to those who knew him only emphasized the rage within. And oh, Merlin knew him well.

He imagined this moment hundreds of times, his magic being found out, his biggest secret laid out for the world to see. He feared punishment. He hoped for forgiveness. He thought of thousands of explanations he could give and, most of all, prayed for a chance to give them.

He should have known.

He was never anything but a vessel of magic, tool of destiny, raised and groomed for his role at king Arthur’s side. His duty was to ensure king’s happiness, not to be happy. To fight for Camelot’s safety, not to be safe himself.

To make sure Arthur lived, not-

And to think that once he had believed that this great destiny included him too.

He moved to stand by the altar and was surprised at how calm he was. Arthur flinched and raised his blade higher, but didn’t stop Merlin from getting to the stone, from touching its cold surface, tracing droplets of Morgana’s blood soaking into it, just as blood of her victims had done before.

He braced himself.

“It was my doing” he said, and it felt like a destiny ending. “It was me who turned Morgana against you. Who had a hand at killing your father. Who freed the Great Dragon” he turned, ready to continue, but sudden pain stopped him.

He didn’t hear Arthur moving closer, yet here he was, face to face with Merlin, his sword buried deep into his stomach. He couldn’t control his face anymore and Merlin could see every emotion that passed through it, one after another, as if feeling one thing wasn’t enough for a betrayal co breaking, so complete.

Cold fury and confusion, yes, confusion, _because how could you Merlin how could you…_

And Merlin, with blood trickling down his chin and his heart breaking, understood that it was be the last thing he would ever see.

He grasped the stone behind him, just like Morgana did mere moments ago, felt it sleek with his own blood that soaked into the stone, and with last burst of effort he cast his final spell, a wish, _a prayer_ , and could only hope it would be enough to sate the curse, to make it leave Camelot forever.

Arthur’s face was ashen and wide-eyed and Merlin knew he was waiting for the spell to take hold, to be attacked or bewitched, and that when he looked at Merlin he didn’t see a man who watched over him for so many years, anymore.

It broke Merlin’s heart.

He always believed he was doing a right thing. Each death he caused, he found a way to explain. Each misdeed, he deemed necessary. No matter the darkness he cloaked himself with, he always thought his higher goals to be good and pure.

And now he couldn’t help but wonder if, somewhere along the way, he became the villain, the monster the world thought him to be.

After all, in this dark and damp cave, there was no lie he could tell that would make Arthur hate him more than the genuine truth.

And as his vision darkened and death chilled his bones, he thought that when Arthur would claim he slaughtered two wicked souls today, there would be nothing but truth to his words as well.  

 

 


End file.
